The Front Door
by lupinlover
Summary: Sometimes what seems so out of reach is just as tangible as your own skin. The Front Door promises to be a romance between Severus Snape and Hermione Granger, two people who seem as different as Black and White, but in the end don't we all discover*read r
1. Chapter 1

            Summary: Sometimes what seems so out of reach is just as tangible as your own skin. The Front Door promises to be a romance between Severus Snape and Hermione Granger, two people who seem as different as Black and White, but in the end don't we all discover that there are no blacks or whites, only grays? To add a bit of plot in, Voldemort has been incinerated, yet he's back again because of a gift he received from Severus Snape oh so many years ago, and now it's up to Snape and Hermione to find the counter-potion, Harry Potter is twenty-three and confused about his life path, and Dumbledore's got some things occupying his mind.

            Author Note: Here is my next attempt at a Hermione/Snape romance, except this one is intended to be a bit more plausible… I am now keysersoze on www.schnoogle.com , and this fic should be coming on there any day now… This story is a sort of supplement to Simply Turbulent… Anyway, all feedback would be appreciated. Thanks! 

_Dear Albus,_

_                        I have some depressing news. Harry was just over here with Ron, and he said that his scar was hurting last night. Voldemort is dead. We confirmed that. We burned his body! I spat on the ashes. What else could possibly be making Harry's scar burn? Please write back as soon as possible._

_                                    Sincerely,_

_                                    Sirius Black._

            Albus Dumbledore sat down so abruptly that his glasses flew off his face and onto the floor. He ignored the crackle of glass breaking, and thought about the letter. Voldemort is dead, he thought. But then, how?

            He hastily pulled out some parchment and a quill and began writing-

            _Dear Hermione-_

_                        There is some urgent news. I know it's summer break, but I need you back at Hogwarts. Get here as soon as possible. It's about Harry.  
  
_

_                        Albus Dumbledore._

            Hermione Granger was relaxing on the beach. Her feet were inches away from the salt water, and when it would roll in on her toes she would shiver. This was the greatest idea she'd ever had. A vacation solely for herself. She had been living the last three weeks in seclusion on Hilton Head Beach in South Carolina. And was savoring every minute of it. 

            Yes, she loved her position as librarian at Hogwarts (she was just waiting for a teaching job to be available), but sometimes work was overwhelming. Hermione had been counting the days until summer break this last year. And when the students left, so had she. 

            She sighed, stretching her legs out. 

            And Ron. She had needed to get away from him as well. She had needed to figure out what she wanted with him.

            Ron had asked Hermione out nervously about three months ago. She had said yes, mainly because she was curious if her feelings for him that had been so fervent at Hogwarts were still alive today.

            After spending the evening with him in Hogsmeade, she had decided they were. And they had been dating ever since. 

            Ron had asked her before she left for this vacation if she wanted to date him, and only him. Hermione hadn't known it was getting this serious. And she wasn't sure if she wanted it to.

            "Enough thinking about Ron," she scolded herself out loud. 

            Just then, she heard the hooting of an owl and sat up.

            A brown owl she'd never seen before landed besides her, carrying a note that she soon found out was from Dumbledore. 

             Harry Potter, after several changes of mind, had decided it would be best to go to Dumbledore. He could probably give him some reassuring reasons of why his scar was hurting again. 

            "Let's go," he told Ron, hopping on his broomstick.

            "Harry, knowing Sirius he already sent Dumbledore a letter. . ."

            "Well then I won't have to explain." Harry replied.

            Harry had been to Hogwarts several times since he'd graduated six years ago. Dumbledore was his mentor, and his friend. Whenever he needed advice or someone positive to talk to, he always went to the headmaster. Dumbledore was like his second father. And he treasured him.

            They arrived at Hogwarts in good time, and Harry was surprised to see Hermione walking up the steps. He landed besides her.

            "Herm! What are you doing here? I thought you were on vacation?" he asked her, noticing her tan. She looked really good with a tan.

            "Me too," Ron said, landing on the other side of her. He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. For a couple that hadn't seen each other in three weeks, their exchange was very non-passionate one. 

                        "I _was_ on vacation. But I got this letter from Dumbledore, about you," Hermione said, waving the letter at him. 

            He felt his heart drop. If Dumbledore was asking Hermione for advice. . .

            "That's why we're here," Ron told her, smiling. "You look really nice, Hermione. Very sexy with that tan."

            Hermione blushed, and simply said, "Thanks."

            She walked inside, and Harry followed her. Ron was looking bewildered, but he followed momentarily.

            Dumbledore appeared, stopping and exclaiming, "I didn't know all three of you were coming!"

            "I didn't either, to be truthful." Hermione said. "I apparated to Hogsmeade when I received your letter. And walked here."

            "And then we arrived. I have a question," Harry said timidly.

            "Yes, I know all about it. Your godfather wrote to me." Dumbledore said, and Ron exclaimed, "I told you!"

            "And . . ." Harry beckoned.

            "I don't know." Dumbledore frowned. "I have no idea. That's why I wrote to Hermione here, the queen of research. I'm sure there's a reasonable answer somewhere in those books . . . some spell . . . some charm . . ." 

            Albus Dumbledore quickly explained the situation to Hermione, and asked, "Do you think you can find something with that much information?

Hermione nodded, heading down to the library. 

            Dumbledore studied Harry for a second. "I suggest you go home, Harry. I think you need plenty of rest for the game tomorrow, eh?"

            Harry nodded, recalling that he did indeed have a Chudley Cannons game tomorrow. "Write to me if you find out anything."

            Dumbledore smiled grimly. "You'll be the first to know."

            Harry somehow doubted that. The world seemed to know when Harry Potter was in peril weeks before he himself knew. 

            Hermione had gone on vacation to get away from work and Ron. And here she was, up to her ears in stacks of books to look through, with Ron sitting across the table from her going on about how much he'd missed her. 

            "It's so good to see you Herm! I mean, I was counting the days till your arrival."

            Where had she heard that phrase before?

            "And it's such a pleasant surprise to see you back already!"

            Won't he ever stop groveling?

            "Ahem."

            That caught my attention. The voice that had just spoken wasn't Ron's, but a deeper, more attractive voice. Hermione looked up and found herself staring at one of the most handsome man she had ever seen—with beautiful oval, brown eyes, shaggy eyebrows, and lovely eyelashes. And nicely trimmed hair, compared with Ron's outrageously unkempt mop of red.

            "Pardon me, but may I inquire who you two are?" he asked softly.

            "Er . . ." Hermione started to say something but she couldn't find the words. 

            "I'm Ron Weasley. And that's my _girlfriend_ Hermione Granger. She's the librarian here. Who are you?"

            Hermione blushed, and turned to look at Ron. He was glaring at her. 

            "Oh, you're Hermione Granger? I've heard a lot of good things about you. My name is Alexander Lockhart. I'm the summer librarian; I guess you could say. I just dust the books and keep them orderly for your return, Miss Granger." The man smiled cordially.

            "Hermione," she said automatically.

            "Hermione, then."

            Alexander silently held her eye for a few moments, than asked, "What is it you're doing? I wasn't expecting you for another two months."

            "We're researching. It's a secret project for Albus Dumbledore," Ron threw in boisterously. He obviously did not like the way they had been looking at each other. He obviously did not like Alexander Miller. 

            Hermione glanced at Ron, and then said, "I don't know if it's secret, but I'm not sure so I better not say anything."

            "Fair enough. I just wanted to know if I could assist . . .?"

            "Hermione doesn't need any help." Ron said flatly. 

            She saw Alexander look at Ron quickly, as if he were some piece of vermin that needed to be exterminated. And that Hermione didn't like. Not at all. Alexander may be incredibly good-looking, but Ron was her . . . friend. 

            "Not at the moment I don't. But if I need anything, I'll know who to ask." She said brightly. "You said your last name was Lockhart—any relation?"

            "Yes, unfortunately," Alexander nodded. "But if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do."

            After Alexander retreated, Ron exclaimed, "Finally! I thought he would never leave!"

            Hermione glared at Ron. "You could have been a bit nicer to him."

            "Nicer?" he replied incredulously. "Nicer? Herm, he was trying to steal you from me!"

            "He was doing nothing of the sort!" Hermione said. 

            "And even if he wasn't, you were looking at him as if he were . . . were the sequel to Hogwarts: A History!"

            She blushed. "I was not. And since when do you go around saying you're my boyfriend?"

            Ron's expression made her anger melt away. He looked defeated, deflated. He looked crushed.

            "I'm not?" he asked slowly.

            Hermione reached out and took his hand. "Ron, I don't know. I've been thinking incessantly about that. I don't know if I want that yet. I don't want anything to move too fast."

            Ron nodded. But she could tell he didn't understand. "Move too fast, Herm? Hasn't this been going on since… hell, since fourth year? . . . But, you haven't been dating anyone else, have you?"

            "No. But if the chance were to come, if someone were to ask me out, I'd want to make sure that I would say no."

            "I guess I can understand . . . or try to anyway."

            Ron looked so depressed, that she asked him- "Do you want to go out this Friday?"

            "I guess. Sure."

            Hermione knew his bad mood would wear away eventually. Ron wasn't a negative person at heart.

            "Great." She smiled at him, and leaned over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Now then, unless you want to research with me, I suggest you go home."

            Ron looked at her suspiciously, but relented. "Yeah, I have to do my laundry anyway. And maybe I'll go visit Harry, cheer him up."

            "I'll talk to you later. Tonight maybe. Tell you what I've found."

            "Hermione."

            She looked up, knowing beforehand who was standing there.

            "Hello Alexander,"

            "I prefer Alex. I've talked to the Headmaster about what you're doing here, and he told me. So if you would like—may I help you?" He asked tentatively.

            Hermione smiled. "I'd love you to help!"

            He smiled back, sharing his white teeth with her. And sat down.

            "You've been working too hard, I think. Every time I've come into the library during the past three days you've been sitting at this table muttering to yourself. Headmaster Dumbledore chuckled when I told him—he said you'd been doing it since your days as a student."

            Hermione laughed. "Yes, that was my reputation. Bookworm. Know-it-all. Ms. Librarian In Training. On that last one they were right. I get so involved in a project that I feel guilty when I try to anything else but work or sleep."

            "And you're supposed to be on vacation," Alex said sympathetically.

            "I _should_ tell you that I'm happy to be doing this, and in a way I am . . . I mean Harry's one of my best friends . . . but I really wish I were back in America." She replied wistfully, remembering the clear blue skies void of rain for the most part.

            "I just recently met Harry. About four days ago in fact."

            "Oh really? He's wonderful, isn't he?"

            "Yes."

            Silence overcame them then, and Hermione flipped through some pages of the book she was currently engaged in. 

            "Hermione?" 

            "Yes?" she looked up.

            "Would you like . . . to go out on a date with me tomorrow night?" 

            "Tomorrow? Is that. . ."

            "Friday."

            "I'd love to, but I've already got plans." Hermione said sadly. 

            "Oh. With Ron?" he asked her, causally. 

            "Yes."

            "Is he your boyfriend?"

            Hermione paused for a second. "No," she said hesitantly. "I don't really know what to call him right now. My special friend, I guess."

            "You've known him awhile?"

            "Yes. We've been best friends since my first year in Hogwarts. And then we started dating. He wants to make a commitment, but I didn't feel ready."

            "So, you're not completely taken? Can you go out on Saturday? I know it will be tough, spending two nights away from your work and all. . ."

            She laughed. "I think I can manage. Where will you be taking me?"

            "Where ever you'd like to go."

            "Even a muggle restaurant?"

            "I'm a muggle born." He smiled at her.

            Severus Snape had been enjoying (as well as he could) a vacation himself also in America, along the Boundary Waters. The place where he stayed was called The Kawishiwi Lodge, and he immensely enjoyed its serenity and quietness. There weren't many places where you could sit outside and hear absolutely nothing, except for the occasional cry of a loon. He had rented a cabin for a month and idly spent his days fishing, hiking, and canoeing, picking up special ingredients for potions in the forest. It was amazing how Muggles just trampled over rare plants and couldn't care less.

            But, he grudgingly admitted, they picked plants that he intentionally stomped on. Flowers. He shuddered. He abhorred flowers.            

            At the moment he was floating in the middle of a lake, admiring the trees and wildlife. Ducks, lily pads, eagles. Loons were fun to watch; they went underwater looking for food and popped back up unexpectedly. More than once a loon had resurfaced near him, causing him to start.

            Severus wished he could spend his life here. No people to bother him. No pupils to annoy him. No evil wizards to destroy him. Just the wind, the water, and the loons.

            Ironically, a letter arrived for him at that moment. It was a Hogwarts owl; it wore the Hogwarts symbol around its neck proudly. He accepted the letter and shooed the owl off.

            Severus thought for a moment about tearing the letter up.  He didn't want to leave this paradise just yet. And he had told everyone not to contact him unless it was an emergency.

            He sighed, and then used a long fingernail to rip open the envelope.

            _Severus-_

_This is very important. I received a letter from Sirius Black the other day that said this- "**have some depressing news. Harry was just over here with Ron, and he said that his scar was hurting last night. Voldemort is dead. We confirmed that. We burned his body! We spit on the ashes. What else could possibly be making Harry's scar burn?**"_

_      Do you know of any potions that could possibly bring Voldemort back to life? The word 'ashes' sticks out at me. Did Voldemort ever say anything about a spell cast on himself involving the use of his ashes?_

_                        Please reply quickly!_

_                         Albus Dumbledore._

            "Goodbye Kawishiwi Lodge," Severus muttered. "Potter's in trouble again."

            Hermione walked to the library early Friday morning, anticipating seeing Alex again. But instead of finding the charismatic Alexander, she found one of the most disgusting individuals she'd ever met. Severus Snape, the Potions Master.

            He stood up as she approached her table, exposing his intimidating height to the library. 

            "Miss Granger." He said by way of greeting, holding out a hand.

            She shook it gingerly, surprised at the softness of it. He was such a hard man; she'd expected him to have callous hands. 

            "Hello, Professor." She replied, as if she were still in school.

            "Albus wrote to me, and explained this situation. And I believe I can help. I went straight to him last night, and told him all I knew. He sent me down here to talk to you. And ask for your help." She saw him sneer slightly, but ignored it.

            "Go on, I'm listening."

            "Sit down, it's quite a long story." Severus motioned.

            After they'd seated, he began:

            "I don't know how much you know about the rituals of Voldemort and his followers, more commonly known as Death Eaters. So I will tell you this story as if you were as ignorant as a muggle. You know about my past, you know I once foolishly worked for Voldemort . . . Before you became a certified Death Eater, before you were branded with the Dark Mark; you had to prove yourself worthy of the Dark Lord's trust.

            "Every October 31st, Halloween, Voldemort held a ceremony. It was held on Halloween, because it was said to be the most fiendish, demonic night of the year. During these ceremonies, prospective Death Eaters gave Voldemort a gift. Some gifts were the killings of dangerous Aurors; some were special Dark items that would help him in his quest to destroy all Muggle and Muggle-borns.  Well the year I turned eighteen, 1948 I presented the dark… Voldemort a gift. My gift was a potion.

            "This potion was a very special one. It was a potion that had, most likely, only been used once before. It took me a whole year to create it, six months to find the ingredients, and the remaining months to brew it. Perhaps I should show you this . . ."

            Severus Snape reached into his pocket and pulled out a very wrinkled and faded piece of parchment. He slid it across the table to Hermione, who picked it up and studied it. 

            "Is this supposed to be hard to read?" She asked.

            "Oh. I forgot. It's written in old English. There's a spell that will convert it to modern English. I'm surprised you don't know it already—you seem to know everything else—in any case, let me show you," Severus said, reaching for his wand.

            "Ah, yes! _Modernica._" Hermione said clearly, pointing her wand at the parchment. "It's not a difficult spell to remember."

            Then she read it, fascinated. 

            _This potion will be very useful for the lucky brute that finds it. I, Salazar Slytherin, have been working on creating a potion that will increase a person's power by one hundred percent. And here, this recipe you hold in your hands, is that potion. But, be warned, the effect will wear off in approximately fifty-five years. And don't try to use it twice, it won't do anything more to improve your magical ability: it works once. _

_            And for a bonus, if it is taken after five P.M. and before midnight on October 31st, it will make you able to come back to life after you've died. The instructions on how to do this are included with the potion. _

_            There is also a counter-potion, which will do the exact opposite. I have hidden this potion in my house also, but it will be a lot harder to find. _

_                                    Sincerely,_

_                                    Salazar Slytherin_

            Hermione looked up at Severus, her mouth open in shock. "He can come back to life? How? And where did you find this?"

            Severus sighed, looking completely human. Civilized. 

            "I'll start with the last question you asked. I found this in Slytherin's house."

            He looked at her expectedly, and she asked the question- "Where is his house? How did you get in?"

            "Slytherin's house is my house. My family, well, we're a branch off of the Slytherin family. Some sister of his married a man by the name of Pachac, whose grand-daughter married a Snape . . . One day I was . . . exploring when I ran into this secret room. I discovered a trunk, one that had been locked. I broke into it, and discovered this. Obviously someone else had found it first and had secured it. The counter-potion was not in the trunk, and I have no reason to believe it is not in my house at this very minute. I never tried looking for it; I didn't care to have it. I always wondered . . . well, this is just a theory, and judging on how eccentric Slytherin was I wondered that since the potion increases power by one hundred percent, wouldn't the counter-potion decrease power by one hundred percent. . ."

            Hermione smiled. "And if your power decreased by one hundred percent, you wouldn't have any power left! Brilliant!"

            Severus nodded. 

            "So, _if_ Voldemort came back to life . . . how would he do it?"

            He frowned. "That's the thing. I can't remember. In fact, I couldn't even remember that I'd given him that potion until I received a letter from Albus. It was as if Voldemort had cast a memory charm on me. But a temporary one."

            Hermione sat up suddenly. "Oh!"

            Severus looked at her, grimly reminded of the days when he had taught her. Always knowing the answers to everything. She read far too much. 

            "Yes?"

            "I read somewhere . . . about a memory charm that lasts only until the caster has died. Would that have been something Voldemort would have done?"

            Severus thought out loud. "I don't see why he wouldn't just use a permanent one . . . unless, unless he was planning ahead? Unless maybe he thought that he would eventually die. Maybe he was leaving a way for his followers to continue his quest even after he was destroyed?"

            Hermione nodded. "That could be."

            But it didn't seem right.

            "Or! I know—Perhaps the way he is supposed to be brought back to life involves another's assistance? Actually, that sounds right, if I remember . . . I'm thinking that he put that memory charm on me until after he died, so that I could bring him back to life. And then he found out I betrayed him, and told another how to do the task . . ."

            Hermione's eyes lit up. "That's it! It must be!"

            Severus found her enthusiasm horrifying, but very refreshing as well.

            "It does seem to be a good explanation. I rather like it."

            Silence. 

            "Then, sir, where is the potion? I mean, shouldn't we find out how he was brought back to life?"

            "Yes, I suppose . . . let me think . . ."

            Severus thought hard. All these memories kept floating back. His anticipation of the night that he was to propose the potion, the compliments he'd gotten from Voldemort, and . . .

            The potion was written carefully out on a piece of parchment as old and shabby as the one that held Slytherin's note. And he saw it—he saw himself hiding it . . .

            "It's at my house." Severus said promptly. "I hid it. In . . . my old bedroom. The small one at the end of the first hallway on the third floor."

            Hermione looked down at her hands for a second. Than looked back up at him. "Well, I guess you should go get it, huh?"

            "Yes."

            Severus wondered if he should—but he really didn't want to—but it would be the right thing to do. Dammit, you don't care less about doing the right thing . . . Severus, look at the poor girls face. She wants to be with you to find it. This is about the most exciting thing she's ever been involved in. Working to save humanity and all that. 

            "Would you like to . . ." Severus started to say. Why was he doing this? To be _nice_? "Accompany me? Since you are involved now . . ."

            "Oh yes! I mean, that is, if I'd be no bother." She said bashfully.

            Severus wanted to roll his eyes, but resisted. "No bother. Just don't talk too much."

            They walked out into the Forbidden Forest, than apparated to his mansion. 

            Snape Manor, as it had been called, once was a very elegant, prominent building. It had once been looked upon with great respect and when people would visit it, they were tentative about touching the doorbell. They didn't want to disturb anything. And once it had been a beautiful building, a five story white house with glamorous stone pillars in the front for show. Everything had been carefully planned out. Every room, every corner, every wall color, even every plant had been planned. All the furniture was color-coordinated with the wall and carpet of the room. All the plants had a "Long-lasting" charm placed on them to guarantee they'd never die or dry out. The walls had an anti-bug charm, and the carpet had an anti-dust charm. Everything was immaculate. Everything was perfect. Everything was looked upon with impressed eyes. Until he'd become the owner. Than he'd destroyed all the plants in fits of rage, thrown several pots of flowers out several windows (which had yet to be fixed). He'd blasted furniture apart with his wand, and torn wallpaper, leaving it hanging down still attached to the walls. All the charms that had been placed were unplaced. All this had happened because of that blasted Voldemort. 

            The exterior of Snape Manor was no better off; covered in unattractive weeds that were definitely not ivy leaves. The paint was peeling, and some vindictive students of his had one time sprayed on his door some nasty words. Severus hardly ever came to his Manor, so why should he care about its upkeep? 

            He watched Hermione uneasily as she looked upon the Manor with surprise. "You—live here?" she asked slowly, looking horrified.

            "No. I live at Hogwarts. You go away in the summer, you wouldn't have known, but I stay at Hogwarts year round, unless I take a vacation. Which I was doing just hours before." He said longingly.

            "You too? I was as well. On this lovely little beach in America, it was wonderful to get away . . ."

            Severus looked at her, a dull expression on his face. 

            She looked back at him clearly not intimidated. 

            "Let's enter."

            Hermione looked uneasily at the door. "You should really do something about that."

            "Why?"

            "It's kind of degrading."

            "Just a little bit," he said sarcastically.

            To his amazement she giggled.

            "Am I humorous? It wasn't my intention." He responded dryly.

            "What are your intentions?" the girl asked him rather boldly.

            "To appear charismatic. How am I doing so far?"

            It didn't fail. Only this time she flat out laughed. No quiet little giggle, but a loud, furious laugh. Maybe it was all the stress that the girl had been under. Or maybe it was funny. It didn't matter. He didn't have the time to think petty thoughts such as those. He was too busy trying not to smile—it felt nice to evoke this emotion out of the girl. 

            Laughter was contagious, but he fought a hard battle and won.

            "Okay, where's your little room?" Hermione asked him, looking around the Manor curiously.

            Severus led the way, feeling a bit ashamed at the state of the Manor. If his parents had known this was what it was bound to look like . . . he shuddered to imagine what his father's reaction would have been.

            "This must have been a magnificent place at one time," Hermione said voicing his earlier thoughts.

            "It was," he admitted. "I remember all the parties here. I would sit on top of this very staircase and look down at all the people dancing. . . until my father found me and . . . punished me."

            He decided to stop sharing his life with his former student and continued until he reached his room.

            Severus opened the door and stepped in; coughing from the dust he inhaled. This door had not been opened for quite awhile, not for almost twenty-two years. Once James and Lily had died, he never wanted to be reminded of his past life when he spent days alone in his room worshiping that auburn-haired beauty. 

            Furnished nicely with a matching furniture set of the same prosaic wood: a four-poster bed (what else?), a roomy desk, a large dresser that had always been half empty, and a nightstand. No carpet, but a wooden floor that seemed identical to the furniture (a nice Illusion Charm took care of that), and white walls. One would say it looked like a boarding school room before the students arrived. Empty with no personality. As it had always been. 

            He closed his eyes a moment, trying to recollect where it was he'd hidden the potion. In the hollow under the nightstand's bottom. 

            Severus went to the nightstand, and swallowed. Prepare to go back in time he warned himself, picking up the piece of furniture both hands firmly supporting its weight. He stepped back, and knew from Hermione's gasp that the potion was indeed there. 

            Severus set the potion down and glanced at Hermione quickly, before nonchalantly leaning down to pick up the dusty parchment. He wiped off the dust and flattened the paper. Then handed it to Hermione, who accepted the parchment greedily.

            "Amazing!" she whispered.

            Severus chuckled. So youthful. Almost puerile. Easily amused. You would think she hadn't lost close friends and seen the many evils of Voldemort. 

            "_Modernica._" She said simply, and then sat down on the edge of the bed. 

            _Slytherin's Potion_

_            This intensely complicated potion requires these quantities of the stated articles: _

_            3 strings of unicorn hair_

_            2 ounces of Kappa blood._

_            7 petals off of a Yellow Lotus _

_            3 ounces of Unicorn Blood_

            The recipe went on, but Hermione wasn't interested in that part at the moment. She skimmed over the rest of the page, and read out loud-

            "There is a bonus to this potion—it will allow you to be recreated. But you will need the assistance of another person, and an animal. There are a few steps which are listed below," Hermione stopped and looked up at Severus quickly before returning to the parchment. " This so-called animal is none other than the rare and beautiful Phoenix. If you're any kind of wizard at all you'll know that Phoenix tears have healing powers."

            "I'm going all over the place here, but your faithful accomplice needs to take your dead body and incinerate it completely. Salvage as many of the ashes as possible and secure them safely. 

            "The faithful friend should now capture a Phoenix, and somehow make it cry. I've found that poking it in the eye with a stick is a good method."

            Hermione looked up again as she heard Severus snicker. "That's not funny! That's just plain cruel!"

            She resumed her reading- "Your friend needs to capture at least twenty tears and secure them as well. I wouldn't suggest holding them in your pocket. 

            Hermione rolled her eyes. "Your sidekick must now make Slytherin's Potion. Once completed, he must put your ashes, the potion, and the tears in a cauldron together. In promptly twenty-four hours you shall be revitalized, rejuvenated, and reborn."

            Severus nodded. "I remember it now. The first time I laid eyes on that potion I was thirteen years of age. I found it in a room here . . ." he motioned with his hands limply. 

            "So, Professor, what's next?"

            Severus studied her briefly, than looked at Slytherin's Potion. "I think . . . first you must stop calling me Professor. I am not your professor anymore, we are now . . . colleagues."

            "Well, what shall I call you, then?"

            "Your Majesty should do just fine."

            Hermione wasn't sure if he was being serious or not.

            Severus gave an amused smirk. "Severus." 

            "Okay. Severus."

            "And the next step—We should thoroughly search Snape Manor. To find the counter-potion recipe."

            "We?"

            "Yes. You are involved now. And, well, your mind thinks differently than mine. And two different minds, both that are highly intelligent, together should be able to come up with one correct answer for every problem." Severus said frankly.

            Hermione smiled shyly. "If you don't mind my saying so—in this one afternoon I've spent with you . . . You been nicer to me and more civilized than I've ever seen you."

            "It was hard at first, believe me. . ." he sighed. "But I do treat people I like nicely."

            "I should hope so. But, I'm curious . . . if this life-threatening issue hadn't arrived, and we hadn't been made to work together . . . would you have been so nice to me? If we had just met by chance one day on Diagon Alley?"

            "I'm not sure. I like to flatter myself I've grown up a bit more. I know I don't hate James so much anymore. And I don't hate Harry at the moment either. But that could be because I haven't seen him in person since he graduated. But old habits die hard . . . I doubt I'd have been as warm if the meeting had no purpose."

            "And . . . well, I know I'm being nosy and you can tell me to shut up anytime, but are you still so harsh on your students?" Hermione asked quickly.

             "Of course. Now I suggest you _do_ shut up before my joviality fades away."


	2. Chapter 2

            Ron Weasley sat in the library bored to tears. He had tried to read Hogwarts: A History and really couldn't see what attracted Hermione to it. It was written in a monotonous style that reminded him eerily of Professor Binns. 

            He'd been waiting around for about an hour now, and the only thing that had kept him from throwing chairs around was the fact that Alexander was sitting in the library as well, writing frantically. So he knew Hermione wasn't with him. 

            But where could she be?

            Ron wondered if he should forget about his pride for a minute and ask Alexander if he knew anything?

            He looked up at the burly summer librarian, feeling pangs of jealousy. He wished he could be as handsome and built as _Alexander_. It was fair. Some people had it, and some people didn't. Ron would probably always be skinny. No matter how hard he tried to get some noticeable muscles . . . it just wasn't going to happen.

            Ron looked at his watch again. She was supposed to meet him at 3:30. It was now 4:12. Hermione Granger was never late. It was a strict rule for her. 

            Just then she walked into the library looking flushed. 

            "Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry! I completely lost track of time . . ." her voice trailed off, Ron noticed, as she caught sight of Alexander. Her eyes strayed on his face for a moment before they flicked back to his own. 

            Ron felt like he was losing control. For one instant he felt like everything sturdy in his life had suddenly tilted dangerously—like all the shelves with his constant memories had been pushed over, all the contents spilling to the _hard_ floor below. So he did what every jealous idiot would do.

            "That's okay, Mione!" he said using so much enthusiasm that he nearly sounded like he had sung her name, and putting his arm around her shoulder.

            She gave him a look of pure disgust. She saw right through his corny attempt to show Alexander what a happy couple they were.

            Ron steered her out of the library and down the corridor before stopping and asking- "So, where were you?"

            "Oh. Yes. Now that we're away from the 'threat' you can start asking me the questions that make it appear our relationship isn't stable."

            "No, no. Hermione, you've got it all wrong," he said lying. "I'm just curious, that's all."

            She didn't believe him, he could tell. 

            "It so happens I was at Snape Manor."

            Ron stared at her for a second, not knowing if he should laugh or be mad. That is, if it was a joke . . . 

            "Are you serious?"

            Hermione smiled. "Yes, Ron. I spent the afternoon with Severus."

            "_SEVERUS!_" Ron yelled tersely. "What, you're on first name basis with the creep?"

            Hermione stuck her arm through his. "Let's walk to Hogsmeade. I'll explain everything to you on the way. It's a rather interesting story."

            Hermione lay in bed that night thinking about Ron. Why in the world did she put up with him? He was far too immature and suspicious at this point to be in a trusting relationship. And to be honest, it was really getting on her nerves. All the questions. Where were you? Who were you with?  It was as if they were married. 

            _Maybe this date tomorrow night with Alex will do you some good_, was her drowsy conclusion. _Maybe dating someone else other than Ron for a change will clear your mind a bit._

Her thoughts somehow made their way over to the potion ingredients—wasn't there 3 ounces of Unicorn blood on there somewhere? Had… Severus slain an Unicorn for …

            "So she told me she had spent the afternoon with Snape! But, actually, she said 'I spent the afternoon with Severus.' SEVERUS! She's calling that  . . . creature by it's first name. She said she might become FRIENDS with him. Can you believe that?"

            Harry couldn't, so he shook his head.

            "I mean, this is Snape we're talking about. That man who used to pick on us. All. The. Time. He can't have changed that much. We've only been out of Hogwarts for six years. Six years. For him to have become as affable as Hermione claims he is . . . that would be a miracle! Isn't there a potion out there that completely changes your personality? Like if you were really nasty you become really nice?"

            Harry grinned. "I think you're getting the real world confused with the Sims."

            Ron paused. "Oh right. That one computer game we played a long time ago. Anyway . . . where was I?"

            "You were in the middle of another jealous rant about Hermione."

            Ron chuckled reluctantly. "You're right, Harry. You're always right. I guess I should trust her, right? I shouldn't care that she has male friends. It's not like I don't have female friends . . . I mean, I have a ton of female friends. I have . . . Er . . . Ginny. She's one . . ."

            Harry shook his head. Ron always got himself worked up over nothing. And he always sat down and listened to him. It was what a friend should do, he figured. So once a week or so he got to hear the same speech about Hermione. And it always ended with Ron making a new goal. Looked like this goal was to make some female friends.

            "How many female friends do you have Harry? No . . . wait, don't tell me. I'll just get depressed." Ron said pessimistically.

            Harry responded to this glumly- "Well, at least you have a girlfriend, kind of. All I have are secret admirers and women who treat me as if I were gay."

            "Not true Harry. I can name off at least ten women who are interested in dating you . . . But I'm not going to."

            Harry looked up at Ron. "You know what we should do tonight? Go out for supper. Just us guys. Talk about the old days."

            Ron nodded slowly. "You know what Harry? That sounds very appealing right now. It'll be a stress free dinner. I haven't had one of those in ages. All my dinner dates have been with Hermione, and on those I have to constantly remind myself that Hermione is very delicate, and that I should watch what I say. She takes everything the wrong way . . ."

            "Let's go to Hogsmeade. We can go to all the shops that we frequented when we were kids, and then go to supper at . . . er . . . what's that fancy place?"

            "The Shimmering Cauldron?"

            "Yes! So, how about it?"

            Ron nodded. "No stress. Sounds fabulous."

            "You look very beautiful," Alexander told Hermione.

            She blushed. Ron had told her the same thing last night, but it hadn't had the same effect on her as this had. 

            "Thank you, Alexander… I mean Alex," she replied—having trouble titling him with such a trite name as Alex when he had the romantic birth-name of Alexander.

            Alexander offered his arm out to her. 

            "Where to?" She asked him, carefully placing her feet so she wouldn't trip over her brand new gown. It had been very expensive, and it would be a shame to tear on its first outing. 

            "I was thinking about The Shimmering Cauldron." Alexander said softly. "All though if you went there . . . they would have to change it to The Shimmering Hermione. That dress is spectacular on you. I think the designer had you in mind while working on this one."

            Hermione smiled. "I don't know about that . . . but it's a nice thing to say, in any case. The Shimmering Cauldron sounds wonderful." 

            "How was your date with Ron last night?"

            Hermione paused. Should she tell him the truth?

            "It was all right."

            Alexander smiled warmly at her. "Well tonight's going to be better than all right."

            "I hope so."

            Hermione laughed. Alexander was a very humorous and intelligent person. It was a refreshing change from Ron's mindless babble about Quidditch and such. Alexander was interested in what SHE was interested in. Ron seemed bored to tears when she started to talk about work. And Alexander, well, he worked where she worked. The very same occupation, almost. 

            And not only did he read books that witches or wizards wrote, he also read Muggle literature. And he adored Muggle movies.

            "After all, I am half Muggle. It's not unusual, you know," he had said. 

            Their conversation had been going well, until she saw two very familiar faces walk in the door, one a very suave black-haired man, and the other a cumbersome red head who had already crashed into three waiters on his way to a table—the table that was right next to hers.

            Something in her face must have changed drastically, because Alexander had asked—"What's wrong?"

            "Ron . . ." Hermione said quietly, bending her head slightly so her hair would cover her face.

            "I presume he doesn't know you're on a date tonight?" Alexander asked, in a neutral voice that made it impossible for Hermione to decipher what he was thinking. 

            "I didn't want to tell him. He's extremely sensitive about these kind of things . . . his self esteem isn't very high."

            "Do you want to leave?" Alexander asked, in an understanding voice.

            She looked at him, and then saw that Ron's back was facing towards her. Hermione didn't think Ron's feelings should control her life. After all, it wasn't like they were committed to each other. She was going to have fun.

            "No. No, that's okay. I'm having a great time. Why ruin it?"

            _Because you know he's going to see you. _

            "I'm having a wonderful time too. Now, which book were we discussing?"

            _But you want him to see you._

            Hermione engaged herself in the conversation, but not wholeheartedly. She kept glancing over at Ron and Harry's table, wondering when one of them was going to turn around and see her. Harry was seated across from Ron, and she could catch his eye if he looked her way . . . but she noticed he was too busy checking out the pretty blond waitress. She giggled.

            "What's so funny?" Alexander asked, a bemused smile on his face.

            "Oh! Sorry. It's just that Harry's been staring at this blond waitress walking around the room for the last five minutes." Hermione giggled some more, wishing she could regain composure. 

            Of course the blond waitress had to come to their table at that exact moment. And so Harry finally caught sight of her . . . and stared. Hermione tried to give him a sharp look, but she started to giggle again. 

            "Did you want Mystical dressing or Garlic-Warlock? I forgot, sorry," the waitress was asking her apologetically. 

            "Well . . ." she tried to speak, but laughter erupted. And everyone turned to look at her. Everyone. She caught Ron's eyes, and saw them widened in confusion. And pain. Ron stood up, and walked quickly out of the restaurant. And suddenly nothing was funny anymore.

            Hermione spontaneously followed him, calling out his name- "Ron, wait!" 

            She heard the door slam, and upgraded her pace to a run.

            Ron Weasley was furious. How could she! Why? What was so special about that snooty Alexander? 

            He could hear her footsteps behind him. He didn't want her to tell him that she wanted to date other people, and to not take it personally. He didn't want her to say that he was a terrific guy, but she didn't know if she wanted to start a serious relationship with him. 

            "Ron, wait . . ."

            Ron stopped. 

            "I'm sorry," was what she said. 

            "For what? You have every right to be out on a date with that bastard." Ron replied icily.

            "You're right. I'm just sorry I didn't leave when you came in. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before hand that I was going to go out on a date with him. I guess I thought that what you didn't know wouldn't hurt you. Well now it has. And I feel ashamed."

            "You feel ashamed? I feel ashamed. I see the way you look at him. You haven't looked at me like that for years. You don't want me anymore. You're bored with me. You need someone smarter. You need someone who you can have intellectual conversations with. Me—I'm just your domestic best friend. Someone without class, but who is fun to hang out with." Ron shrugged. "It's the truth. And I know it. So go on, date people like Alexander who have read the things you've read and think the things you think. I'll leave you alone now."

            And he walked away. 

            And she didn't follow. 

            Harry Potter wondered how long _this_ altercation was going to last. 

            Ron had told him everything he'd told Hermione, and had also told Harry he wasn't ever going to talk to Hermione again . . . unless she made the first move. 

            Hermione had told him basically the same thing, except she modified hers—"I'm so embarrassed Harry. I must come off like a gigantic pig. I don't even want to see Ron; I'd just feel embarrassed some more. Tell him if he wants to forgive . . . I really want to be his friend again."

            "I'm not going to tell him anything, Herm. I hate being a mediator." 

            So now he had two best friends who he could never invite to go anywhere together. But surely they would make up, they always did . . .

            Severus Snape was waiting patiently outside of Snape Manor. Hermione should have been here by now, but he was enjoying the peace. Snape Manor was covered by gigantic Sycamore trees, and birds were swapping songs with each other, and flying from branch to branch. Wildflowers were growing everywhere, and the shade was well received. 

            "I'm sorry," Hermione called to him, her voice stuffy as if she had a cold. 

            She was walking up the stairs towards the door he was leaning against. He noticed her eyes were red as well. 

            "Don't make it a habit," he remarked, than let her in the house. "I thought we should explore the west wing today."

            "Why?"

            "It was the least used area of the house. I don't remember going back there more than three times, and two of those times were after both of my parents had died. And there's another reason, but I'll let you figure that one out for yourself.  Be warned, though, it's kind of creepy."

            She looked startled for a moment, than smiled. "Okay."

            "What's this smile for?"

            "Well, you know, I was there when Sirius and Dumbledore burnt Voldemort. I don't think anything could be more creepy than that."

            "You'd be surprised." Severus responded tersely. Images flooded his head, but he tried to ignore them. 

            The girl wisely decided not to comment—she'd become more and more cautious and knowledgeable about when to say something and what to say as they'd been exploring the Manor for almost two weeks now.  

            Severus stopped at the door that lead into the West Wing corridor. "Here we are."

            He opened the door, and led her in.  

            As the light penetrated the dark hallway, he could see the spiders scrambling away. Spiders loved the West Wing. So did Snakes for that matter. Which wasn't surprising considering. . .

            "What's so creepy about this?" Hermione demanded. "There are just a few spiders, and gobs of cobwebs. Just because I'm a girl, it doesn't mean that the sight of spiders makes me want to run off."

Severus chuckled. "Calm down. This is just the hallway."

            "Oh." She replied meekly.  

            The hallway stretched down a couple hundred feet, and was covered with black carpet and decorated with pictures of Salazar Slytherin and his mistress Lady Serpienta. There were thirty-two doors that led into thirty-two rooms, and a few extra doors that lead into other areas of the house—like a portkey. 

            Severus didn't know much about the West Wing, because, as he had said earlier, this was not an area he'd been in much. But when he had inherited the house (which was very surprising to him, as his step-father had disowned him after his mother had died) he'd checked the place out (And those damned doors that brought you all the way to the other side of the house . . . he'd cursed up a storm about that) looking for anything valuable before locking it up and never returning.  

            But now he'd returned. 

            This had been Salazar's corridor. Inside some of these rooms were very disturbing pictures of Muggles being tortured and killed—Salazar's favorite method seemed to be one where a Muggle was chained to the floor and bitten to death by all sorts of poisonous snakes. Pictures featuring that technique were very recurring. 

            In some of these rooms were books on Dark Arts—most of them in languages he couldn't read, not that he'd want to, well not anymore. But Salazar had hundreds of them! Books that could only be found in Knockturn Alley—some that were one of a kind, and some that couldn't be sold anywhere without immediate execution of the seller. There had been ingredients and such, but his parents had gotten rid of them before he was alive. They didn't want anything to discriminate them.

            In Salazar's very own bedroom were chains on the wall, no doubt used for locking up people who had gotten on his nerves. He even had a torture room, with all sorts of goodies such as racks of different sized axes (most with dull blades) probably for beheading, a gigantic cauldron with chains at the bottom used to boil people to death, and iron beds that could be heated to high temperatures. Salazar had walls with spikes, razor-edged pendulums, arrows, cages, and nooses. Severus also knew from some book or another that Salazar was also very fond of the water torture—in which a person was forced to drink water to their death. Despite it's monstrosity, it was all rather fascinating. 

            But he didn't plan on taking Hermione to _that_ room. The unavoidable paintings were harsh enough. Especially since Hermione was a muggle born.  

            "I suggest we start with the first room." 

            Hermione nodded. "That's reasonable."

            Severus opened the door slowly, looking around quickly. He lit the candles with a wave of his wand, and let his former student in. 

            She gasped. 

            Hung on the wall, under a gigantic stuff snake, was a detailed portrait of a starving (muggle) person chained to a wall. 

            "That's kind of creepy, don't you think?" Severus attempted to be humorous but the joke died before it even caught on fire. 

            "Oh my." Hermione said suddenly, looking as if she were going to kneel over. Severus hastily led her towards a chair (which had the words 'Salazar Slytherin' on them in gold print.).

            "Are you going to be able to handle this? I can always do this section by myself . . ."

            "No. No, I can do this. I mean, I'm going to have to get used to this sort of stuff sooner or later."

            "The average, lucky, human being- Wizard or Muggle- normally doesn't have to see any of this during their whole life." 

            "I've never been that lucky. I mean, every time I enter a contest or try to win the lottery—I never win. I've never even won one of those Coke contests . . ." 

            Severus decided not to ask what Coke was. 

            He watched her nervously look around the room. "What kind of a bastard would have a picture like _that_ in his house? I mean . . ."

            Severus saw her shoot him an embarrassed glance and realized that she didn't know if these items belonged to him or not. After all, this was his house. 

            "Haven't you figured it out?" he said hurriedly. "This whole wing was Salazar Slytherin's living quarters."

            She smiled weakly. "I was hoping it was something like that. Wouldn't have wanted to be so foolish to get myself trapped in a room with a person who was obsessed with the Dark Arts . . . I mean, I know about your history . . . but . . . well . . ."

            "I understand. So. Where shall we begin?"

            The room they were in looked like a typical office or study—it was equipped with a desk, bookshelves, and comfortable furniture. 

            "I think, even though I doubt he would put it in something as obvious as that, we should look through his desk." Hermione said diffidently, as if she was expecting him to lash out at her. 

            Severus nodded. "We might find something else of use."

            "Is there anywhere else we can look?"

            "Under the carpet, it looks like it could have been lifted up at one point in time. We could bang on the walls some, feel for some loose boards. All the old tricks. Check the cushion on the couches . . . maybe they have zippers. Look in all the books. Behind the books shelves. We've got a lot of work to do."

            It was doing their search of this room, that Severus heard a bunch of quiet sniffles coming from the direction of Hermione Granger. Maybe she just has a cold, he told himself. 

            Severus sighed. She didn't have a cold. She was crying. What was he supposed to do? _Comfort her_?  No, but he could at least ask what was wrong.

            He got to his feet, walking away from his bookshelf towards hers. "Are you okay?"

            Hermione didn't look at him, and spoke in a muffled voice- "Yes. I'm fine."

            There. She told you she's fine. Go back to looking through those dusty, old books. But he didn't believe her, and he felt he should at least tell her.

            "Listen. I know I'm at the bottom of the list of people you'd tell your problems too . . ." he started, wondering what he was getting himself into. "But, if you need to talk—I'm right over here by this bookshelf . . ."

            Hermione looked over at him, her face blotchy. "It's just . . . I don't know why I'm telling you this stuff, but I can't talk to Harry, because he's too close to Ron. You don't even like Ron, so perhaps you can make me feel better."

            "Are we bashing Ron Weasley?"

            "I never thought I'd be talking to you about my love life, but . . . Do you know the summer librarian?"

            Severus thought a moment. "I've never met him, but I know about him. Andrew? Is that his name?"

            "Alexander. Well, Alex. Ron thought he and I were a—couple. But I don't even think I feel romantically about Ron, you know? So when Alexander . . ."

            Severus listened patiently while she told him the whole story. It wasn't exactly a fun time, but he felt obliged to help her out, if he could. And it was surprising—Hermione and Ron had always seemed like such a loving couple. He remembered quite clearly how they were always making eyes at each in his class. He'd tantalized them about that one, for sure.

            "So now Ron's not talking to me. I lost a good friend. And he's so opinionated . . . He'll never want to be just friends with me. I don't know what's so special about me anyway."

            Severus smirked. "You're not serious? You can't name any good qualities about yourself?"

            "Well, I'm intelligent. And I try to be nice. But, other than that . . . Most men want flirtatious, curvaceous women who spend hours getting ready for a date. "

            "You're interesting. That's important. No man wants to be with someone who talks about makeup all day. They want to be with someone they can have a good time with. Can you have a good time with someone who worries about getting her shoes wet? No, you can't." Severus responded.

            "Is this from personal experience?" Hermione blurted out. 

            Severus laughed. "Believe it or not, it is." 

            Hermione blushed. "Sorry. Sometimes things just come out of my mouth. I guess you could say I have a bigmouth."

            "I've known that since 1991, when you first came to Hogwarts. But anyway, do you have any more complaints? Questions? Or can we go back to work?"

            "Well, do you think I did the right thing?"

            "I can't judge. I don't know this Alexander person. But then again, Ron always seemed a little closed-minded and simple—probably those aren't characteristics you treasure?"

            Hermione nodded. "True enough."

            They had gone back to work, and Hermione was sitting thinking about Severus Snape. He could become a good friend. 

            She remembered that ominous day—during her seventh year. It was during March—March 5th she thought. They'd all been in the Great Hall, chatting about something or another. And Dumbledore wasn't there—rumors were floating around that he'd gone off in search of Voldemort. Harry was worried—he didn't think the Headmaster was strong enough to defeat the dark lord. Harry wanted to go and find him.

            Hermione had been yelling at him, Ron had been shaking his head—and then the doors had burst open. And Death Eaters filed in. And Lord Voldemort. She had never been more scared than she had in that moment. She closed her eyes and prayed—to the God she'd never believed in. She knew her life was in mortal danger—that Ron's was, and most of all Harry's. 

            And when Voldemort had headed towards their table, towards Harry—all she could do was stare. She couldn't move. She couldn't scream. She couldn't cry. She couldn't even lift up her wand. Hermione admired Harry—his ability to think fast in times of peril. He had his wand up, and ready. 

            Hermione's heart had been beating ferociously. She thought if she wasn't killed, she would die of a heart attack. 

            "Mr. Potter—care to join me in another room?" Voldemort had said, his own wand outstretched. 

            Then they had heard a resounding call from out in the hallway—"Avada Kedavra!" and they heard it again. "Avada Kedavra". Two bodies had fallen to the floor, apparently, and the Headmaster came through the door. 

            Voldemort had turned around then, and looked at Dumbledore.

            Hermione felt a hand enclose her own and squeeze it tightly. She turned to see who it was, and it was Ron. She burst into tears, silent tears, and she watched Dumbledore through her blurred vision.

            "Hello. Nice to see you again, my good friend. It's been so long. Too long."

            Dumbledore had looked simply furious—every inch of his face was raging with anger. He was actually scarier than Voldemort himself. 

            "Put your wand down, you fool. I'm immortal. I can't be destroyed."

            Later, she'd realized that Voldemort was a bit of an idiot, maybe just too arrogant. The boy who had caused his first downfall was standing behind him, wand in his hand, and maybe a bit bored. Well, no not bored. That was stretching it. But certainly unoccupied. Dumbledore had realized this much sooner than Harry had, and stalled by saying- "And how did you become immortal?"

            Hermione had glanced at Ron, who gave her a puzzled look. This just wasn't like Dumbledore. 

            And Voldemort, being as egocentric as always, started on about how he'd used his father's bone, Wormtail's hand, and Harry's blood. Then, for some reason, the topic switched to Draco Malfoy—who'd told him that Dumbledore was going away. And when Voldemort was praising Malfoy, and looking over at the Slytherin table proudly, Dumbledore had looked straight at Harry. For just a split second, but that was all he needed. 

            Under Dumbledore's casual commands, the Minister of Magic (Fudge, who was pretty scared when he found out Voldemort was really back) had allowed several selected seventh years to be taught the Unforgivable Curses by the most efficient Aurors. Hermione had been one. And so had Harry. They had practiced on spiders, rats, mice, snakes. It hadn't been fun, but it had been necessary. But here she was, stunned, her wand somewhere on the ground she suspected.

            Of course, Harry could never use Avada Kedavra. He had looked around nervously at all the Death Eaters (about forty of them.), knowing that they were all outnumbered. The tally of Death Eaters had been higher, according to Harry, when Voldemort had first risen, but so many had been killed since. 

            Hermione felt a surge of power in her left leg, and lightly kicked Harry, giving him a sharp glance. And then Harry had lifted his wand, and yelled (she could still hear him in her head) "Imperio!"

            Albus Dumbledore had reacted quickly to this, and shouted out the incantation for the 'Deep Sleep' charm. 

            The 'Deep Sleep' charm was one she'd studied in her sixth year, and had never seen it put to work. It was also a very difficult, potent charm, and only the most powerful wizards or witches could use it successfully on a large group. Basically what it did was put everyone in the room to sleep, except for the caster. So frankly she hadn't really seen the charm in action, but she'd been part of it. 

            She'd later learnt, both from Harry and the Daily Prophet, that Dumbledore had awoken Harry immediately. Dumbledore had told Harry that Voldemort would eventually wake up on his own, because of his immense vigor and strength. 

            Dumbledore told Harry he had to be leaving soon, very important business very far away, and he asked Harry if he would mind so much as to finish off Voldemort. 

            _"But . . . Voldemort is immortal," Harry protested._

_            "Not as much as he would think. Any human being with blood flowing through his body is mortal. Voldemort may not even be one percent mortal—but he is still mortal. And Avada Kedavra kills any mortal."_

_            "But professor, how am I supposed to go about this? Do I just wake him up and kill him immediately? That feels . . . wrong. Isn't that like cheating?"_

_            "Well, if you think it would work I suppose you could wake him up, tell him you are about to end his life and then kill him." Albus Dumbledore smiled grimly. "It makes no difference to me." _

_            "It can't be this easy. Surely Voldemort wouldn't have overlooked something as simple as having blood in your body enabling the Killing Curse. That's . . ."_

_            "That's what happens when your ego and confidence become too big for your brain and outlook, Harry."_

_            They sat in silence for a few seconds._

_            "Do you really have business? Can't you kill him?"_

_            "No, Harry. I really think you should be the one to do it. And I have faith in your abilities; I know you can do it. And I know you will do it. I don't have business, but I do know that if you don't end this feud yourself, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. I'll be going now. See you tomorrow Harry."_

            Harry stared at the retreating figure of his mentor, and shook his head. What was he suppose to do now? This is really going to be too effortless. He had at least expected to have to duel. 

            In the end, Harry told them he had sat on a table behind the collapsed body of Voldemort, and waited for him to wake up. And when he did, Harry watched him for a moment before killing him.   

            "Severus?" Hermione asked, flipping through the pages in a book labeled- Ysheias Ieyash. She'd decided it was a secret code.

            "Hmm?"

            Hermione noticed abruptly how much different his voice was. In class, or anytime she'd heard him speak at Hogwarts, he used this low, hushed tone. But here, in this room, in this house he was talking naturally. Or, she assumed it was natural. His spoke his words much more casually, perhaps because he had no audience to practice dramatics with. And his words were audible and not so annunciated. He sounded very easy going, and lighthearted. This wasn't the Potions Master, was it? Could it possibly be?

            "This is a kind of personal question, and I don't mind if you don't answer me—"

            He arched his head so his eyes faced hers. 

            "What were you thinking when Voldemort came in the door? During supper. . ."

            Severus looked amused. "Dark thoughts occupying your mind, Miss Granger?"

            "Yes."

            "Well. I was thinking, 'Oh great, here we go again.'" Severus responded, but Hermione wasn't satisfied.

            "That's all you were thinking?"

            "Maybe."

            "Oh. So you're not going to tell me anymore?"

            "No. Let's drop that subject." Severus seemed on the borderline between friendly and cool at the moment, so she quietly returned to her shuffling through books. This job was utterly tedious. Luckily she had something to look forward to—a dinner with Alexander. At the school, nothing romantic, but she would be able to get to know him better.


	3. Chapter 3

Notes: New chapter all ready written and ready to go… I'm curious as to see the reaction, however. 

Severus Snape waited idly at a back table in The Three Broomsticks for Hermione. She was supposed to meet him here at twelve and it was now twelve fourteen. What could be taking the formerly punctual girl so long? 

            He saw her storm in moments later, holding the latest copy of Witch Weekly in her hands. She slid (almost threw) it across the table at him. 

            "Read." Hermione said, sitting down in the chair across from him with exaggerated exasperation. 

            Witch Gossip?

            A column created and maintained by Luann Skeeter. 

Thursday, July 15th

Luann Skeeter saw Hermione Granger, the current librarian at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, dining with Alexander Lockhart who is the summer librarian at Hogwarts. Readers may remember that just a few weeks earlier there were pictures of the presumably happy couple Ron Weasley and Hermione—What happened?

A Source (who wishes to remain anonymous) tells me that Ron and Hermione broke up mainly because of Ron's lack of intelligence. This same source tells me that Ron spat at his ex-girlfriend, saying that he may not be as smart as she was, but he was a much better person. 

Any comments? Any rumors? Owl Luann Skeeter please.

Severus looked up at her. 

She was shaking her head incessantly. "Ooh. Like mother like daughter. Those Skeeters are no good."

"I agree."

"Oh, and look at this--," Hermione quoted the magazine. "' A Source (who wishes to remain anonymous)'. Don't they always seem to be looking for anonymity? I wish these so called 'sources' would show their faces."

"There may not even be a source . . ."

"I know! Er . . ."

Severus and Hermione had been working together now for about three weeks. Spending almost twelve hours a day in Snape Manor, looking through the dusty, the immaculate, and the plain ugly rooms that the Manor had to offer. And they had slowly become more than colleagues, more than acquaintances, more than enemies—they were now what some would say friends. 

Severus didn't make friends easily, and he normally tried to steer away from Muggle-Borns . . . but he realized that doing this, he would be following Voldemort's wishes and that thought made him ill. 

And then after Voldemort's return, he realized he had no friends to talk to about how he was feeling . . . he just sat in silence and tried to cope with everything alone. It had taken him five years to decide that he needed to make some changes.

He had slowly begun mending his ways, trying to say some nice things each day. And now instead of being completely incorrigible (except to his pupils—he felt they needed his torturing—it would make them into stronger people. And the world needed strong people), he was now not quite amiable. Maybe that was over-exaggerating. He was now . . . somewhat civilized. But he did, from time to time, make snood and sadistic comments, more out of pleasure than out of habit. And sarcasm would always be a striving virtue of his. 

And here he was, at lunch with a young Muggle-born who seemed to enjoy his company. 

"Ron's going to read this. And he's going to be miserable."

"I wish I could feel pity for Ron . . ." Severus commented dryly. So he still held some minor grudges. We can't all be perfect, after all, he reasoned. 

Hermione paused for a moment, than smiled. "Am I getting too worked up about this, do you think?"

"Just a tad."  

"Good thing I'm having lunch with the voice of reason then."

"And . . ."

"And what?"

"Well, I flatter myself, but I think I'm the voice of more then just reason. Try intelligence, wisdom, humor, sarcasm . . ." Severus smiled wryly.

She just shook her head and it struck him like a bolt of lightning how beautiful she actually was. But it wasn't the kind of beauty that you noticed right away—it was the kind that slowly revealed itself over time—as to enforce that before you saw the outer beauty, you saw the inner beauty first. And he'd seen both. He felt clammy, and then disgusted at himself. 

"Uh…"he began, trying to get such thoughts out of his head. New topic, he pondered, what new topic?

"Yes?" Hermione asked sweetly, and it was at that moment he knew he could now be added to the list of her admirers. But he was just going to have to conceal that fact—it was unheard of for Snape to have a crush…

"Oh nothing… just musing aloud…" he responded blandly. Severus felt hollow, especially when he thought of that git, Alexander, whom he'd finally met the other day. Hermione had introduced him—and he recalled now how attractive he was… and Severus felt the deepest detestation.

"When are we working next?" She asked him, her eyes browsing the menu with interest, then they flashed up at him and he felt such an impetus of emotion that he could scarcely breathe. Tears were threatening to surface as the cause of such an intense feeling, but he coerced them back.

"Is that all that's ever on your mind?" he shook his head, trying to act like he always did around her—trying not to betray his mind's admonishes against his heart. "Can't you just enjoy your Saturday and Sundays?"

"I've got this feeling—can't we go this afternoon? After lunch?"

Yes! He thought.

"I suppose. But… let me check my calendar—chock full of social events, you know me…"

She giggled and touched his heart softly.

Ron sat, hidden in the corner, staring at Hermione bitterly. Who would have thought she'd be dining with _Snape_? What had she become? Someone to be ashamed of, that was what. Yet she tantalized him day and night—he missed her dreadfully, and it was all he could do to keep from walking over to her right now—except the fact that he had behaved so stupidly was holding him back—how could he show his face to her now? Ah… life was crummy.

Hermione followed the man clad in black, curious as to where he was taking her. It was the Friday after the lunch at the Three Broomsticks, and they were heading down a meandering dirt trail that led…? Severus had said that he wanted to take a break, and would she care to join him? She did care, and here she was.

The trail was in the woods beside Snape Manor, and it was enclosed and kept cool by the shade of the tall, multifarious trees. She was enjoying the walk, and was always wondering what the enigmatic conclusive to this sojourn would turn out to be? 

Her eyes caught sight of blue, and soon it was revealed to her—a lake. Hermione smiled at Severus, who was looking at her nervously as though this was something dear to him, as though he was expecting her to ridicule his inner appreciation for nature. "It's very pretty—so tranquil!" she said to him, and breathed in the air that was drowsy with moisture. 

She saw a fresh white gazebo nearby—with a swinging bench, and she gasped at its quaintness. Hermione pointed at it, and questioned, "Can I go on that?"

He nodded at her eagerly, and took her arm with his—such a gentlemanly gesture that she'd never seen from him. Hermione wondered absentmindedly at the condition of the gazebo—it looked as though it had been painted just yesterday—but that couldn't be so, as Severus would never waste his time on something so trivial.

She smiled at him gratefully, and he smiled back, bashfully. "Do you like it?"

"The lake? It's beautiful." Hermione responded, feeling slightly confused at such a change in behavior. The warmth of his arm was oddly placating—and she didn't want him to remove it, but of course he did as soon as they were situated on the wooden bench. 

The bench was short in length however, so she was seated close to him—and that proximity was also comforting—in fact she had an urge to rest her head on his shoulder—but she didn't know how he would take that. She didn't know what her reason was to be doing something like that anyway, and didn't want to discover--- but she discovered nevertheless a latent lust deep within her—and she realized that she felt towards Severus something more than friendship. 

Hermione looked up at him, longing to reach out and feel his skin. "It's really nice," she said instead. 

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry Potter asked, arriving at the commodious office of the Headmaster. "Hermione's told me about the potion… But she's been here awhile, how come I wasn't told before? She just told me two days ago—and it's kind of bothering me that no one found it necessary to update—you even said yourself that you would tell me first…"

Dumbledore had given him the password—so he was able to slip in any time he fancied, and right now he was quite angry with the world—he wasn't a child anymore, after all, and he felt he deserved to know all that was going on that involved him. He stared at the old man, and awaited a reply.

The Headmaster looked at him wearily—"Harry… I wish I had a nice reason…there is no good reason for not telling you, other than the fact that Voldemort has and will affect many more people than you…"

"But he's mainly after me!" Harry blurted out.

"Maybe so—by why?" Dumbledore asked him, with a pensive countenance. 

"Not to sound arrogant, but maybe because I'm the one who can destroy him. I'm probably his greatest threat!"

"Are you?" Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "Well—Harry, not to sound arrogant, but … Well I'm afraid I will sound arrogant as I have no way to say this gracefully… I'm sure you've heard the rumor many times that I'm the only wizard Voldemort fears? And as he's shown himself to you many times…"

Harry glared. "Why are you being so defensive?"

"Why have you suddenly become so egocentric?"

"Why are you treating me like an adult?"

Dumbledore sighed. "That's what you wanted, I thought."

"I don't know what I want." Harry said, sinking into the red leather chair in front of the Headmaster's desk. "I guess that was what I thought I wanted—but when you talk to me so openly—it's scary! I'm used to you laying things on my mind lightly and at the right times. I don't want to be an adult—I want everything to be taken care of for me, like it was back at Hogwarts."

"I've wanted that many times, Harry." Dumbledore grin sardonically. "Everyone wants to go back once they've left—but what you have to do is keep pushing forward. I hope I didn't sound defensive back there, it wasn't my intention—but Harry, you aren't the only one who is in grave danger. I'm not worrying for you alone—and that's why I didn't tell you—I didn't have the time, and I guess it slipped my mind. Severus came and said he knew all about it… he told me about a potion, and I sent him to deal with Hermione—which was a great move on my part," Dumbledore mused, "as they seem to be friends now… Severus always needed a friend, and I wasn't cut out to be one for him—not the type he wanted."

"If you wanted to…" Harry started, and continued with an encouraging nod from Dumbledore, "Could you destroy Voldemort?"

"I thought I had. Or you had." He murmured. "But I guess he's got a few more tricks up his sleeve yet…"

"I wish he would just go away!" Harry exclaimed, frustrated to no end with everything and everyone.

"Hi, Alexander," Hermione said, grinning at her date—despite the melancholy that had taken over her disposition. "Where are we going tonight?"

He smiled back, and said, "I dunno—thought you could pick?"

It seemed to her that she didn't know him—that she really couldn't name any of his dreams, motivations, traits—he was simply courteous, romantic, and congenial. And that was all she knew. Maybe if she knew him better—maybe she could realize that he was whom she should love, and not Severus-- 

"Hmm… let's go somewhere where we can talk—let's go…" She muttered, ignoring the exuberating pain she was feeling. Ever since she had discovered that the person she was coveting was none other than the one who would not have her three days ago, she had hardly gotten any sleep as he was weighing her heart down so much. Yet she couldn't force herself to relinquish those daily meetings and their work at Snape Manor—it was the highlight of her life, to see him crouched beside some bookshelf, digging through documents. And some times she felt that maybe he was thinking the same about her—feeling the same towards her—but she knew it was impossible and silly and girlish. "I know where we can go!"

Thinking of Severus had aroused an image of the gazebo—and if that place had evoked romantic feelings towards the Potions master, it could do wonders for Alex—or that was her reasoning anyway. Hermione wasn't superficial, she knew it wasn't the gazebo's doing: but it _was_ worth a try. Sooner she could get past this crush, the better—but she felt it wasn't something meant to get past. 

They arrived at Snape Manor, and she avoided looking at the mansion—she felt guilty that she was coming here without Severus, but continued down to the gazebo regardless. He wouldn't mind her occupying his lake without him, she determined. Alexander looked sensational beneath the moonlight—as he looked all the time with that Greek God physique, and she didn't trust that. Hermione liked when beauty had to be sought out, when beauty had to be earned or deserved—for him to be able to share his beauty with the world without the world doing a thing first seemed awfully unfair to his loved ones. 

Severus seemed to her the most desirable piece of flesh ever—but she'd never noticed it before. And what was it about him that made her tingle when he approached? It couldn't be his sallow skin, or his sullen expression. Not his unkempt physical appearance or his emaciated frame. But yet… 

And Alexander, with his dimples, was being to look more and more utterly disgusting because he did not embody all Severus did—whatever _that _was and Alexander could never be sarcastic without sounding really moronic. So he was out—he was not even on the possibilities list.

_Stop it Hermione, you're not even giving him a chance, _she scolded herself and continued to walk. 

They came upon the strikingly white building and she climbed in, noticing that Alexander didn't offer her his arm. Everything was wrong about him, _everything_. 

He initiated a frivolous conversation, and she responded with the answers she was expected to give—all the while gazing at the lake and wishing that Severus were the one beside her. If _he _were there, the conversation wouldn't remain in such shallow waters. They'd discuss symbolism in so and so's classic epic novel, or current events and how society was being reflected and mocked in the media.  

She felt him take her hand, and she allowed it—her lips turned into a smile, because what was she supposed to do, grimace at him? He commented on how beautiful she was beside the scenery, and she did her bashful glance away—and caught sight of a figure standing near a tree. Hermione winced and wondered who it was—and she knew. It was Severus, and he was watching her. 

Hermione turned to look at Alexander, and she felt culpable at the new elation that was in her movements—and she wondered if it was that elation that caused Alexander to spontaneously lean forward and kiss her. And as he did, she sat stunned knowing how this must look—her turning away to look at Severus and turning back to kiss Alexander.   

"How dare you." Came the stony, level voice of Severus, now feet behind her—he must have bounded over here instantly. "How dare you use my gazebo as some juvenile, teenage make-out site. Leave my property immediately."

Alexander backed away, and Hermione wondered at the apathy he showed—was he not embarrassed? Ashamed? Surprised? Then it was her turn to look at the Potions Master—to see his eyes, and see the anger stemming up. He held her gaze for many days and nights, or so it seemed, and then retreated with dexterity and pompousness. It dawned on her after he left that there was an emotion other than anger there—it seemed a bit of latent hurt was trying hard to surface. And she mused once again. 

Severus Snape didn't know why he'd been moved to visit that spot so late at night—it was a rule that he didn't approach Snape Manor when the sun was down—memories were vivid of nightly sessions of fear. But he was enticed, called, lured by something, some other force that he couldn't title. And a good thing he was—now he could rest his mind because he knew that Hermione was taken—taken by that bastard Alexander of the perfect complexion. How could she fall for someone so … superficial was beyond him. But it was fine with him—it wasn't like he had stood a chance before, anyhow. It wasn't like he _loved_ her or anything. He was just going to have to put some more space between the two of them, so he could brood in isolation like he was accustomed to doing. Severus would get over this—he got over it all, it seemed, eventually, and if he didn't then he ignored it all.

Like with the front door of Snape Manor—he didn't do anything about it, he just let it sit and deteriorate all by itself. Eventually. 

He was much too old for her anyway. And she was much too beautiful for him. 

Hermione supposed she should feel remorse, and feel silly because of her actions: Severus obviously wanted to evict those emotions from her. But it wasn't going to work—because she saw some insight last night, she saw something in his eyes that made her convinced that he felt romantically towards her. So she felt smug—smug that she had captured this once vile, always hostile man into her trap—she truly felt a woman right now. 

But she was also ecstatic—and for a reason not too much less self-centered. Hermione wanted him to love her, and if that were possible—she would try to seize the opportunity and squeeze out what she could. But how could she do that? Was she brazen enough to do that?

She thought it strange how that specific tone of voice he'd used last night was the kind that made her shiver in fear just years before, yet it had hardly any impact on her now. Did that mean she was mature? Or more mature than she had been then? She _hoped_ so. 

Monday morning came quickly, and Hermione awoke early—eager to meet _him_. She wondered if she should try to make her appearance more pleasant today, but disregarding the idea knowing _he_ would see through it. And knowing that _he_ wouldn't care if she were the plainest being on earth—he didn't really have much to choose from after all.

She tried to calm her nerves by reading a few pages of one of her favorite muggle novels, Wuthering Heights, but that resulted only in a comparison between Severus and Heathcliff, who seemed ironically similar. And she fancied herself a bit like Catherine—and then laughed at her foolishness. But Hermione wondered if _he_ perhaps saw her as Heathcliff saw his Cathy? 

They always met by the library—the perfect place, the place where Hermione had grown up almost. Who had chosen that as the meeting spot? It had been _him_ hadn't it? Was he looking out for her comfort? She walked down the hall, pondering that possibility. 

She was so oblivious to the world that she forgot to be on her guard—especially with Alexander running around. Which was precisely why she ran into that very person—he was smiling at her, and she smiled weakly back.

"Hello, Herm!" He said cheerfully. "Professor Snape was here already, and he told me, rather harshly, to tell you that he was going to work alone today."

Hermione's heart bounced tumultuously—and it _hurt_. "Just today? Did he say anything else?"

Alexander shook his head, and his eyes, which had once seemed intelligent and compassionated, looked stupid and empty. "No. He told me to tell you he was working alone today."

She nodded slowly. Hermione supposed she could let him off with just this one day. But if he tried it again—she would have something to say about it. Alexander stood there beaming at her, and she felt utter disgust arise in her gut. "Thanks for giving me the message, _Alex_."

"I was wondering if you were going to be free then today?" He asked her, leaning casually against the stonewall that was Hogwarts. 

"No, actually I think I have something I need to do today anyway. But I'll see you later, okay?"

She vanished quickly, heading out to the Forbidden Forest to apparate. That was awkward—and Alex didn't even seem to gather that feeling inside his thickly shelled head. Hermione sighed aloud, and wondered why she'd wasted so much time on that dimwit. 

She found herself outside of Harry's house in Godric's Hollow—the place Lily and James Potter had occupied. When Harry had discovered that, he had journeyed to the cottage that was no longer standing, and had fallen in love with the neighborhood. Which was why he'd bought a humble house on the same block. 

Hermione walked up the rock path, and knocked gingerly on his quaint, green front door. She waited patiently, and felt overjoyed when his queerly handsome face appeared in the window. He smiled his contagious smile and admitted her into his home. "Hey, Hermione. Not working today?"

She was momentarily disheartened, but recovered hastily—"No. No, not today. Are you practicing today?"

Harry shrugged. "I think so. They don't mind if I'm late though. I'm their, and I quote, star seeker. They don't dare enrage me—they're afraid if everything doesn't go perfectly I might quit."

Hermione gave him one of her admonishing looks—"Harry! You shouldn't take advantage of their allowances… you should be a better man, and earn their respect as a human being, instead of as a Quidditch player."

He beckoned to her to follow him into his dining room, where they sat down after he retrieved her a drink. "Listen—you have a good job—you have a… respectful job, a job where you help people and make a difference… I'm a lousy Quidditch player! What can people gain from me diving to capture the Snitch? I'm pathetic, I have a useless career. I'm still playing the game I played throughout Hogwarts—it's like I haven't grown up yet. I've been on the Cannons for five years so far—and I don't think I can last much longer. I want to make a difference…"

Hermione was stupefied—she didn't know such things weighed as heavily on his heart as they did on hers. She guessed she had always egocentrically thought that she was the only one with integrity—well, integrity in the work force anyway. She knew Harry had plenty of integrity when it came to saving the day. 

"Well, Harry, if you're unhappy—get another job! Work at the Ministry… or go talk to Dumbledore—he'd be happy to give you a job at Hogwarts…" Hermione offered.

Harry's face lit up, and he said, "Ever since I visited Hogwarts and bumped into you, I've wanted to go back! Hogwarts was my benefactor, my savior… Without it, I'd be a bum on some street in London. I have this desire to give back what I was given… d'ya really think Dumbledore would give me a job? I wouldn't mind if it was something as minimal as caretaker or gardener or … and we'd be able to work together again… I'd like that a lot, because I miss you. I don't get to see you… I see Ron quite a bit, him always dropping in on me… I'm never surprised to come home and find him laying on my couch listening to the WWN… when are you going to talk to him again?"

"First, I think that yes, Dumbledore would give you a job. And when am I going to talk to Ron again? When he accepts me as his friend. Has he done that yet?"

"Look, I honestly don't know. You're a touchy subject—I do know he wants you to make the first move… can you do that?" Harry asked her, sympathy in his words. 

Hermione nodded firmly. "You know, I believe it's time I did… how long has it been, anyway? About a month? I've never gone this long… Is he working today?"

Ron had been working at Fred and Georges' joke shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, since graduation. Hermione suspected he was not enjoying his job either, because he was again in the shadow of his brothers. He did make decent money however, and that was more important to him than happiness. 

"Yeah… I think. Until four."

Hermione arrived at the shop, smiling helplessly at the sign proclaiming the name of the store with crude drawings of Fred and George playing tricks on various figures of society—she was one of them, a gesture that had been very flattering. She walked through the front door, sidestepping to avoid a stampede of children with bright orange bags in hand.

She saw Fred standing at the counter waiting on a customer. Hermione strolled over, and leaned against the counter with a smile on her face—Fred was too engrossed in his conversation to take note of her, but when his satisfied customer walked away, he looked at her and grinned. "Hey, Hermione! We haven't seen you in a while… I reckon I know why. That git of a brother I have… but it's nice to see you! Care to buy anything? There's some insulting flowers over there you could give to Ronnie…"

Hermione giggled. "No, that's okay. I'm here to talk to Ron… is he around?"

Fred groaned. "I believe he is… drat. If you really want to talk to him…"

"I do."

"He's in the back room—you're not supposed to go behind the white line, but I'll let you since you're practically family and everything." Fred grinned wickedly at this comment, waving at her as she disappeared into the back room.

Hermione walked nervously, and looked around at all the boxes that awaited her, and the lab tables—Severus would have been amused to know the Weasley's needed lab tables in their line of work… And there he stood, Ron—and she realized how less gangly he was, and how much more of a … well, strange as it was, a man he was. She wondered if this had happened in this last month, or if she had just noticed it until her leave of absence? 

His back was to her, and he was in conversation with George about some shipment that had come in of Bertie Botts. Hermione cleared her throat politely, and Ron turned to look at her—she saw a flicker of a smile, but he seemed to realize who she was---the enemy. 

"Hi, George, Ron… Ron, can I speak to you privately?"

Ron wiped his hands on his jeans, and spoke nonchalantly, "I guess… sure… George?"

George smiled at her with a nod and went down the hallway she had just exited. Ron held her eyes captive, and asked, "Well? What did you want to talk about?"

Hermione stood there, silent and motionless, and it all of sudden dawned on her how _nice_ it was to see Ron, and how much she had missed him. And how she sought his solace now more than anyone's… and before she could determine what her next action would be, a sob fled from somewhere inside her, some hidden recess of her soul, her heart, and Ron's uncaring, apathetic guise crumbled—he came towards her, and enveloped her with his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind the flood of tears his shirtsleeve was collecting, and he didn't seem to mind that she was probably crying about someone else and not him. In fact, he seemed to her to be standing there as a friend, and not a potential lover. The way he'd been in their first, second, and third years—until it had all become a huge muddle of hormone-influenced emotions. His hand rested comfortably on her head, and he murmured unintelligible, yet placating words.

When she felt she could speak, she did: "I've missed you…"

"I have too," Ron said in that defeated voice he used so often—as much as he hated admitting he was wrong, he found himself doing just that many times. "And you know… I think I _am_ ready to be your friend. In fact… I met someone."

Hermione beamed up at him—"Did you really? What's her name? Tell me all about her!"

            Endnotes: In the next chapter, a reconciliation between Severus and Hermione because of, ironically, Alexander's actions (not what you'd think). 

            Read these authors if you like S/H—these are writers on www.schnoogle.com

            Textual Sphinx—probably the best fanfiction writer I've come across, check out her stuff on schnoogle… Decoding of the Heart… 

            KazVL—Another good writer, she writes Falling Further In, which depicts a slow establishment of a relationship between S/H—and I mean slow! She's on chapter 16, and yet Severus … I won't say any more. It's nice. 


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